The Light Workers

candle

Perhaps you have never heard of an HSP.  You may know them as other descriptions such as too sensitive,  anxious, depressed, only has a few friends, doesn’t like school, often sensitive to overhead lighting, loud noise, overstimulation, too many people, often the brunt of bullying, cry baby.  Teenaged HSP’s get diagnosed as bi-polar (particularly females), ADD, ADHD, depressed, or anxious.  Big Pharma makes a fair amount of money “fixing” these beautiful people to make them “normal”.  But all they do is shut off their innate abilities.

I held in my hands a women’s magazine and read the small captioned news bit.  HSP, or Highly Sensitive Person, is a person more in tune with their natural surroundings.  Often sensitive to artificial lighting, loud noise, crowds, overstimulation, and….  I think my mouth must have dropped open.  Never in my life had I read such a perfect description of myself.  I was always told I was “too sensitive”.  An HSP certainly sounded nicer.  I have talked with more plants, trees, and animals in my life than people.

Now, here is the thing about HSP’s, they are also often times very intuitive, clairvoyant, whatever your comfort word for it is.  Some can see spirits, some are our medical intuitives, some are the foreseers, and always, always empaths.  The reason we are so dang sensitive is because we literally feel everything that we see or read about.  I cannot read novels of violence or suspense, I will feel the violence.  Same with movies.  Sadness in other people made ten times more amplified.  News…forget about it.  HSP’s must never read the news.  Happiness is felt more intensely as well.

HSP’s are what many call “old souls”.  Many of us remember past lives even.  Many are wise before they ought to be and just seem….odd.  HSP’s are not considered autistic but may border the autism frequencies, highly intelligent, intuitive, aware of everything.  Our healers.  Our lightworkers.  With an intense desire to become a hermit!  But we cannot hide out.  There is much work to do.

As a child I don’t know if I ever met another HSP but as an adult, as the phrase became more known, I have met more.  My mentor, old roommate, Hopi friend is an HSP.  We talk about it quite a lot.  He is a hospice chaplain and brilliant at his work.  He told me once that there are not very many of us and I, at the time, believed him.  Until I opened my shop.  My shop is a magnet for HSP’s.  Parents bringing in “anxious” young people, young adults coming in on their own that have been classified as one thing or another who just need to know that their abilities and gifts are important and are not a malady, older adults that never could put their finger on it.  Our healers.  Our light workers.

Elbert county is an interesting place.  Part rancher, part cowboy, part home on the range, with an inordinate number of energy healers, artists, right brained society and young people, many more than I ever would have guessed, who are intuitive.  My work morphs from simply making plant medicines to teaching these young people how to filter, how to work with their empathy, their “knowing”, their light.  That they are indeed normal.

If you know or meet someone like this, smile at them.  Know that they are the healers of tomorrow, and that there is an entire society of too sensitive folk out there about to make the world a much better place.

The Life of a Healer- Part 2 (gifts and fire)

I think you would have liked her.  She was a very nice girl, naïve and not equipped with a lot of common sense, but a very nice girl.  I remember her to be very compassionate.  At six years old Wildflower pointed to a truck load of sheep and asked where they were going.  Her father told her they were going to be dinner.  Wildflower was horrified at the very notion.  When she was twelve years old she read in a teen magazine about a lifestyle called vegetarianism and was so excited to find such a thing that she adopted it immediately.  Being such a lover of and having such a connection to animals seemed so contradictory to eating them.

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This was about the time her intuition began.  A nervous feeling in her stomach wracked her for hours at school one day and she simply could not figure out what was wrong.  She learned that afternoon that her friend’s house had caught fire that morning and had burned.  As she grew older she started having dreams of tragedies before they hit the news.  She was so upset by these things and confided in her grandmother.  A funny thing about intuitive abilities, they remain secret among families.  It turned out that Wildflower’s grandmother had been a medical intuitive.  Her sisters were all highly intuitive.  Her nieces were too.  Wildflower’s sister was finding her own abilities.  A strong gift was evident among the female family members but one would have to search to learn about it.  Wildflower’s grandmother told her how to shut off what she didn’t want to see.  What Wildflower was left with was the ability to know when the phone was about to ring.  She still didn’t know what her gifts were or how they would be used in the future.  A very close family member told Wildflower these things were of the devil and to denounce them.  But the intuition continued though it was weak for there were many other things going on in Wildflower’s life.

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As she held her newborn son, after barely turning nineteen, in a cold hospital room with two beds, another mother holding a screaming infant across from her, she took in the beautiful sight of her new love.  Her son was beautiful and small, a perfect gift from the Creator.  She, of course, had other plans now.  There wasn’t a convent in her future.  Something more pressing and passionate had overcome her, motherhood.

One year before she had met in school a quiet, brooding, mysterious, artistic boy who was both charming and confusing.  A decision turned to an infant and Wildflower felt that she should stay with him even though he showed signs of intense anger and would go for months without even uttering a word to her.  I told you she was naïve.  Very nice though.  You would have liked her.  You just would have felt sorry for her for she was truly a clueless child and felt if she got married, things would work out.  If she had another child, things would work out.

As she sat huddled in the small basement after being locked in there, six months pregnant and holding onto her frightened two year old, she wondered how she had gotten to this place.  She heard the leaves and kindling being shoved around the door and the sound of a match.  The door was being set on fire.